


searching for a better world

by lycanmutt



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Drugs, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Prescription Drug Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Richie isn’t doing great I’m sorry, Specifically Stimulants, depression & anxiety, tiny bit of fluff if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20929181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycanmutt/pseuds/lycanmutt
Summary: When Richie is diagnosed with ADHD, it all goes downhill from there.Or maybe not, if fixing that means people will find him more likable.Even if it gets out of hand.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you read the tags on this
> 
> This happened as a result of all the ADHD Richie stuff I’ve seen and re-reading the book and finding out that adult Richie was an (occasional) coke user, so I put the two together + more and… this is what came out of it.  
I don’t think this needs to be rated as explicit (mature for drugs, language, and some vague sex mentions) but if it does, let me know!
> 
> Mostly just Richie’s POV with a few moments of crushing on Eddie mixed in

It all started with the Ritalin.

Richie sat on the paper covering of the exam table, kicking his legs as he looked down at the floor. His mother seemed to have forgotten, or maybe just didn’t care, that he was still in the room as she pulled the doctor aside to speak with him.

“I just don’t understand what’s wrong with him. He gets good grades, but all of his teachers tell me the same thing. It doesn’t stop when he comes home, either. I just don’t understand what I did to raise such a _problem child_,” his mother whispers to the doctor, but it’s more of a loud hiss than anything else. Richie has no trouble making out every word. She glanced over at him and smiled as if she hadn’t been talking about him just moments ago, just to turn back to the doctor with the same hissing whisper, “See? Even right now, he won’t stop _fidgeting_.”

“Mrs. Tozier, it likely has nothing to do with your parenting. From the sound of it, he could be struggling with an attention disorder. I’ve got just the thing,” the doctor responded to his mother, and pulled out a prescription pad from his coat pocket. He scribbled something down on it, tore off the sheet, and handed it to the distressed Mrs. Tozier.

If Richie’s grades reflected anything, it was that he wasn’t stupid. He knew what that little paper meant, and seeing as he’d only been in for a routine check-up…

Well, Eddie might get a laugh out of it at least. 

To Richie’s mother, the little white pills had been a miracle. When she could be bothered to pay attention to him, she’d rave about how much better the notes home from school were getting, and how it was _finally_ tolerable to sit across from him at the dinner table. 

He’d tried to speak up, tell her that he didn’t like the way the pills made him feel after just a couple days. They left him feeling nauseous throughout the morning and early afternoon, and when that feeling finally faded, it was replaced with exhaustion and a nearly daily headache. Hanging out with the other Losers just wasn’t as fun anymore, no matter how hard Richie tried not to let it show.

At one point, he’d stopped taking the medication. It only took a day or two before he felt back to normal, and another week before his mother noticed. Richie had expected her to bring him to the doctor to check his dosage, he had no problem with that since he wouldn’t be taking the upped dose anyway, but she’d taken the time to count the pills in the bottle Richie had tried to hide in his backpack. Damn, had she been taking notes from Sonia’s book?

As expected, she was angry. His father was even angrier. Richie went back to taking his medicine, and he didn’t try to stop again.

It was another afternoon of hanging out in the clubhouse, where Richie found himself in the hammock with Eddie, reading and re-reading the same page of a comic as he struggled to keep his focus.

“Richie, what the hell is up with you lately? I mean, I’m sure not complaining, but you haven’t said anything stupid in at least,” Eddie checked his watch, “A couple hours. Just checking in to make sure you’re not like, dying or something.”

“Nah, just a little tired out from my night with Mrs. K,” he’d responded with a wide grin, although the splitting headache was starting to set in. “It takes a _lot_ of fucking energy to climb that mountain, y’know what I mean?” Richie held up a hand for a high-five, but Eddie just shook his head.

“Forget I said anything, I spoke too soon,” Eddie said in exasperation, and picked up his comic book once again.

If Eddie and the others preferred the new and more subdued Richie, then maybe the side effects were worth putting up with

Eventually, the side effects became less noticeable. Or maybe Richie had just learned to work around them. In a way that would make Mrs. Kaspbrak proud, he’d started to carry around other pills to handle the afternoon headaches before they came on. It didn’t matter that more often than not, he struggled to fall asleep, because the medicine made him feel awake in the mornings no matter how little sleep he’d gotten. Instead of demanding that Eddie would buy them both ice cream, he was content with just stealing a couple bites because that was all it’d take before he’d start to feel sick. Richie made it work.

The Losers drifted apart as high school went on, or maybe Richie drifted apart the most from the others. It wasn’t as easy to make time to hang out when Richie’s focus was on his schoolwork and getting into college so he could get the fuck out of Derry, and their interests had changed and evolved anyway. Everyone had their own thing, and their friend groups stopped overlapping at a certain point. Richie missed them of course, especially Eddie, but his friend had grown less and less interested in hanging out with him over the last couple years. Richie couldn’t blame him.

***

The next step was the Adderall.

A couple years into college, Richie had been referred to the school’s psychiatrist. Despite continuing to take the pills that had gotten his life on track, according to his mother, they seemed to be losing their magic. He found himself falling asleep in classes, if he even made it to them at all. It was difficult to find the motivation to get his work done, and there were plenty of days that he just wouldn’t leave his bed at all. If he couldn’t even get his schoolwork done, what good was he?

For the first time, it felt like he’d found someone who was willing to listen to his complaints about the Ritalin. The side effects he’d been putting up with for years, just to have the medication lose all the benefits that Richie had come to depend on.

“You know, there’s a new drug on the market that could really help you. You might have less side effects with it, and it should help you get your focus back,” the doctor had told him, and handled him another piece of paper from that familiar prescription pad.  


The Adderall was better, yet also somehow worse. Richie felt like he was getting parts of his old self back finally, his thoughts were back at full speed and he found himself cracking jokes at a rate that would easily impress his teenage self. Instead of hiding away in his dorm room and only going to the occasional class, he actually felt like being _outgoing_ for the first time in his college career. He made friends, and even found himself in a relationship with a girl he’d met at a party. Truthfully, he didn’t know how it started, but it made his mother proud when he called home to tell her. _Thank fucking god_, he’d heard his father mumble in the background as she relayed the news.

But, the Adderall wasn’t a cure-all. Maintaining a relationship was hard, Richie had learned. He could deliver on some of her early expectations, he’d found out that his mouth could in fact be good for something other than spewing bad humor, and that had kept her happy for a while. There were times where she’d return the favor to show her appreciation, and Richie had no trouble accepting.

However, it wasn’t long before she wanted to take their relationship to the next level. When she noticed Richie’s hesitation and asked if he was holding out for marriage, he just about laughed in her face. “Hell no,” he’d told her, and after she let him know that he had nothing to worry about, it was her first time as well, he decided to move forward with their relationship.

They planned out every aspect of their evening. He’d made sure his roommate would be spending the night with his own girlfriend, bought all the supplies they could possibly need, and even took her out on a date beforehand. _You can do this_, he told himself, even as his nerves seemed to be winning out over any excitement.

When they returned to his dorm room, everything went just as planned, at least at first. He’d made sure she was ready, maybe even took a bit too long as she found herself telling him to “hurry up.” With a shaky sigh, he nodded and tore open the condom packet. He rolled it down onto himself, but struggled as he realized he _couldn’t keep it up_. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to work himself back up, but every time he went to give her what she’d wanted from him, the blood seemed to have no interest in staying where he needed it to.

“I… I,” he’d started, but she soon cut him off as she propped herself up again.

“What? Am I not _hot_ enough for you, Rich?” She’d asked, but her voice had more anger in it than true curiosity.

“No, no, it’s just… nerves, baby” he’d said, and he lightly put a hand on her shoulder to lead her back down to give it another shot. Even though he knew there was no point.

Before he even had a chance, she slapped his hand away. “Bullshit. Don’t act like I haven’t noticed the way you won’t even look at me when I go down on you,” she’d said callously, and grabbed her clothes off the floor so she could pull them on. “I don’t need this. You’re probably just a fucking faggot, aren’t you,” she laughed humorlessly as she pulled her shoes on, and shoved past an open-mouthed Richie to leave the room.

Richie felt like he had an excuse for the depression that followed, his girlfriend had broken up with him. At least, that was what he told himself was the cause of his misery. He didn’t leave his bed for a couple days, and the missed days of his medication only added to the depression. Until, he realized he now had more than enough to get him through to his next refill.

The day that he finally found the strength to pull himself out of bed was the day he’d pulled out his pocket knife to crush up the spare pills. He’d seen kids do it at a party before, and they seemed to like what it did for them, so why not give it a try? He could use a pick-me-up, after all.

Once he had a fine blue powder in front of him, he carefully arranged it with his knife before ripping up a piece of notebook paper to roll up. Before long, he had snorted most of the powder up his nose, although the remainder of it was dusted across the table as he coughed. _Oh god_, he hadn’t realized just how much it _burned_. Even down the back of his throat felt like sandpaper was being dragged down it and no matter how much he coughed, he couldn’t get rid of the feeling. 

Richie regretted his decision for a good minute, swiping his hand under his nose to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. After a moment, he realized that he felt _good_. The pain was still there, but it was more dull and _completely worth it_.

  
As the days went on, Richie found himself taking his daily pills in his newly found way. It just made sense, he got the effects sooner and more intensely without increasing the dose. After everything he’d dealt with, didn’t he deserve something that made his days a little easier?

It wasn’t long before he was slacking on his schoolwork again, but this time… this time, it was by _his choice_. With the help of the medicine, Richie had found that he could be the life of the party again. He could make everyone laugh, or at the very least roll their eyes. He had talent, talent that was being wasted by pursuing a degree so he could get a job he’d never like.

After just a few more weeks, Richie had dropped out of school completely and moved to L.A.

***

It wasn’t long until he moved onto cocaine. 

It took a while for Richie to get his career rolling, but soon enough he’d found his groove. Self-deprecating humor came easy to him, and it seemed to get a laugh out of the audience most nights. Throw in a couple jokes about his love life, and he had no trouble getting a good crowd together for his shows. 

Of course, once he started getting more recognition, that was when the writers took over. It was better that way, if he didn’t have to worry about coming up with his own material, they’d told him. His audience wouldn’t even notice. Richie didn’t mind.

The celebrity parties lost their appeal after a while, they’d just started to feel… wrong. It wasn’t like most people wrote their own material, but Richie couldn’t help but feel like a fraud every time someone would reference his shows, or ask if there was any truth behind his jokes. For some reason, they all liked to assume that the one thing that had to be true was his disaster of a relationship with his girlfriend. Richie even played along most of the time, which certainly didn’t help his case.

Not even the pills could keep up the energy he needed to put up with the prodding questions, exhausting parties and gatherings, and scripted shows that took more out of him than his original material had. He had to remain convincing enough on his joke delivery, hell, he felt like he had more of an acting than a comedy career.

Being a celebrity did have its perks, though. For Richie, it came in the form of an upgrade he desperately needed. “That’s kid’s shit,” he’d been told in reference to the pills he’d spent the last few years using to his advantage, “Try this instead.”

Richie did have some uncertainty when it was first offered to him. The pills he’d been on for decades, those had been given to him by his doctors. That had to mean they were safe, right? This… this was in a category of its own. Despite his hesitation, Richie decided to go for it. Being a comedian was stressful, didn’t he deserve something that would let him feel _good_ again?

Even though his new remedy made the parties a lot more tolerable, nothing compared to spending nights in by himself. Although the coke was something he only did every couple weeks, those were the nights that he never felt better. His career was on the right path, people found him (or rather, his jokes) funny, and there was no time to feel lonely or pity for himself when he felt so _sure_ of himself. Of course, those feelings didn’t last long enough. A short time would pass, and Richie would find himself sinking into a deep depression where his self-doubt would return with a vengeance. Thankfully, he learned he could keep that at bay by keeping up his high. Another line, and he’d feel good again for a while, at least until that faded out even faster than the last.

He’d find himself chasing that feeling for hours, blowing through more cash that he’d want to admit until finally, he just couldn’t break past the wall of depression for more than a few minutes at a time. That was when he’d drag himself to bed, his mind exhausted even though his body wouldn’t let him sleep for another couple hours. 

The best part about the coke was the way it made Richie feel like he had his independence back, he no longer needed the Adderall to work through his days. Since the cocaine was something he’d only do alone every week or so, he felt like that was all the proof he needed that he wasn’t an _addict_, he didn’t need any drugs or medications for putting up with daily life. It was just something he could do for himself every once in a while. He had it all under control.

Until he didn’t.

Before a big show, it wasn’t uncommon for Richie to do a line or two backstage. It was no different from taking a shot beforehand, it gave him the confidence he needed to get out there and nail his joke delivery. This was one of the biggest shows of his career, one that was being broadcast live on the major comedy networks.

It was just as common for Richie to get hit by a wave of nausea when the effects first kicked in. However, it _wasn’t_ as common for Richie to actually get sick. Only minutes before his show, he found himself vomiting into the bushes behind the club as his heart raced. Something felt off, but he couldn’t quite place it. His racing thoughts weren’t helping.

“Tozier, you’re on,” his manager propped open the door and called to him. 

Richie ran a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his nerves, it was probably nothing. Once he was out on the stage and had a place to expend his excess energy, it’d all be okay. 

Or so he thought.

All he managed to get out was his introduction, and even that wasn’t without stumbling over his words. The heat of the stage lights usually left him sweating by the end of his shows, but never as quickly as it had right then. Besides, he felt… too cold to be sweating. His hand moved up to his chest and rested over his heart, Richie didn’t need a medical degree to know that it was beating _too fast_.

“I… I, fuck. I forgot the joke,” he got out with a laugh that was more of a wheeze, and as the crowd erupted into a sea of booing, he set the microphone back on the stand before speedwalking offstage. 

He’d fucked up. There was a good chance he’d ruined his entire career, and he could know for sure if he bothered to check his phone. He knew there’d be several missed calls from his manager, Twitter notifications, and god only knew what else if he bothered to check his phone. It might have been a day later, or maybe two, but his phone must have finally died, leaving him with the perfect silence to wallow in the misery of his trashed career.

The evening of the show was all a blur to him. Somehow, he’d gotten home after his public malfunction, but beyond that, he simply had no memory. There might have been a moment where he’d gotten sick again outside of the cab as soon as it pulled up to his apartment, but there was no way to tell what had or hadn’t happened. It was days later by now, and the only thing Richie had gotten off the couch to do was take a piss. What he was waiting for, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t ready to face reality yet, it was easier to pretend.

***

Recovery came in the most unexpected way of them all.

It came in the form of a knock on his door late one evening. Richie found himself not caring that he couldn’t remember if he’d changed his boxers in the last 24 hours, nor did he bother to put on any additional clothing as he dragged himself off the couch to open the door. Chances were, it was just his manager coming to find out why he was dodging his calls, one look at Richie’s condition would answer any follow-up questions.

Once the door was open, Richie squinted at the person in front of him. It sure as hell wasn’t his manager, even through his badly smudged glasses he could tell that much. “Hey man, I think you got the wrong-“

“Richie. It’s me,” the man in front of him had cut him off.

“Right. Me,” Richie said in response, raising an eyebrow as he tried to place the face in front of him. The guy was familiar, didn’t give off creepy fan vibes, but where had he known him from? Even though he hadn’t eaten much over the last few days, Richie immediately felt like he needed to excuse himself to the bathroom. “Shit. Eddie.”

The man, who he now remembered as Eddie, didn’t invite himself in. And neither did Richie. Instead, they stood in his doorway, Eddie didn’t even bother to try to hide the way he was looking over Richie’s shoulder to see inside of his apartment.

“Why’re you here?” Richie asked.

“I saw your show. The live one-“

“Yeah,” Richie stopped him before he could continue. “Okay. So, why does that explain why you’re here?”

“I was worried about you,” Eddie said.

“We haven’t talked in years.”

“I know.”

“You need money or something?” Richie asked, what other reason was there for a childhood friend to show up out of nowhere? Whenever someone got famous or won the lottery, there were always the people who would try to weasel back into your life.

“No? I just… thought you could use someone to talk to,” Eddie told him, as if that was something that always happened. You know, the common cliche of a childhood friend showing up after years of not speaking after seeing his addict buddy have a breakdown on live television. It happened all the time.

“Thanks, Eds. But I can afford a therapist of my own now, pretty cool, right?” Richie tried not to look at Eddie, the poorly masked frustration prominent on the shorter man’s face. Just like all the times when Eddie would try to talk to him about what was upsetting him when they were kids. Richie never hesitated to brush it off and change the subject, and Eddie knew it was pointless to press it.

“Fuck you, asshole. I meant as a friend.”

“Oh of course, my bad. Come right in,” Richie rolled his eyes and gestured into his apartment. He hadn’t expected Eddie to actually come inside, but before he knew it, Eddie was pushing past him and getting a better look at his apartment.

“Richie,” Eddie said after a moment.

“Hm?” Richie shut the door behind them, and scratched at his arm as he stood beside Eddie. 

“How the hell are you _living_ here?”

_Well, Eddie, my good friend. “Living” is a funny word, it’s up to interpretation. If you ask me, I’m not sure I’d consider what I’ve been doing here as “living”_, Richie thought, but gave Eddie a shrug in response. 

Eddie shook his head, and every time his eyes moved over some of the unwashed dishes, clothes, Richie felt himself growing more and more ashamed. He hadn’t invited Eddie over, what right did he have to criticize his life? “You,” he said, and pointed at Richie as he turned around. “Need to take a shower right fucking now.”

Richie wasn’t sure what he’d expected. That was maybe one of the most predictably-Eddie things he could have said, but Richie had expected a bit more explicit criticism. Maybe Eddie would laugh at him, or show just how disgusted he was by the state of his apartment. He’d expected Eddie to walk out as quickly as he’d showed up, not start giving commands that he wasn’t exactly wrong about.

“Okay,” Richie mumbled, not about to argue with Eddie on that. What was he supposed to say? _Sure, I haven’t showered in a couple days at least and probably smell like an entire ass, but I ain’t listening to you._ Instead, he gave Eddie a wave, headed into his bedroom to get a change of clothes, and soon enough the shower was running.

Once Richie stepped into the shower, he could hear the sound of dishes clattering as someone (Eddie) loaded the dishwasher, the vacuum running (his neighbors would kill him, it had to be at least 10pm), the microwave beeping (a familiar sound at least), and various other sounds that he couldn’t specifically identify the source of. His apartment was getting the Kaspbrak treatment, that much was clear.

He didn’t know how long he’d spent in the shower, just that he felt far better than he had before. He turned off the water, and stepped out to wrap a towel around himself and dry off. There was one more sound he heard as he patted his hair dry with the towel, and it made his heart sink in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. The door to his apartment had opened and shut, and now there was silence again.

Oh.

Richie pulled on the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d brought into the bathroom, and stuck his head out to see if maybe he’d been mistaken. He hadn’t. He left the towel on the floor, and wandered out to see his newly cleaned apartment. Maybe Eddie had thought the depression would be a little more tolerable with a cleaner place to live, worked his magic, and left. Richie couldn’t blame him. 

He found a seat on the couch once again, sinking into the familiar indent in the cushions as he laid back. It was nicer to have a tidy apartment as he looked around, the stacks of dishes were gone, so was the laundry, and so was-

Shit.

The tray table he’d kept near the couch had been carefully folded up and put aside, but the items he stored _on_ said table were nowhere to be seen. Of course Eddie left. Why wouldn’t he?

Richie felt his heart racing again, although this time he didn’t know what he could put the blame on. Eddie finding out and leaving? Nah, that was stupid. Why would that matter, he hadn’t even talked to the guy in ages.

There was another knock on the door that Richie was sure almost sent him into cardiac arrest, but he pulled himself off the couch to go to the door. Probably just one of the downstairs neighbors coming to complain about the late-night vacuuming, Richie had no problem blaming it on the goddamn magic cleaning elf that snuck into his apartment at night. When he pulled the door open again, he was surprised to see that it wasn’t a neighbor. It was the aforementioned magic elf. Only, this time, he had two suitcases dragging behind him. “Uh. You moving in?”

Eddie didn’t say anything as he walked inside once again, and Richie didn’t push him as he shut the door once again. “Are you fucking _kidding me, Richie_?”

“No? No,” Richie said, but he wasn’t sure what the question was in reference to until he turned around to see Eddie holding up the damp towel he’d just used.

“I just cleaned the place up. The least you could do is keep it that way for the five fucking minutes it took me to grab my shit,” Eddie said, and tossed it into the pile of laundry he’d put together earlier.

“Right. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

“No shit,” Eddie responded and moved to open up one of the suitcases, and pulled out a small box that he carried into the kitchen. “You don’t even have a fucking clean pot to boil water in. It’s amazing.” 

Richie didn’t say anything to that, he just nodded as he stood in the middle of his living room. 

“Sit down,” Eddie called out to him, and soon he was carrying over a mug of… something steaming. He grabbed the tray table and managed to unfold it one-handed, and set it in front of Richie with the mug on it.

All Richie could do was stare at the cup. Tea, he’d figured, but that didn’t explain what was going on. _Hey Eds, I see you found my only- my favorite table. Now, what’d you think of the drug paraphernalia that used to live on it? Speaking of that, where is it now? Just curious, you never know when the need might hit._

“Drink that,” Eddie told him, and sat down beside him on the couch.

Unsure of what might happen if he didn’t comply, Richie picked up the mug and brought it to his lips. Despite his obedience, he couldn’t entirely mask the face he made as he took a sip of… whatever the fuck Eddie was demanding he drink. It tasted like some kind of hot flower water, but he’d be damned if he told Eddie that right then.

“It’s good for anxiety,” Eddie said as he watched Richie take a sip.

“More like anxie-tea, am I right?” Richie said with a grin and held up a hand for a high-five, but soon lowered it when Eddie didn’t react. He could have sworn he saw a smile flash across the other man’s face, but what did he know. Richie was the loser who had just showered for the first time in days, and now found himself sitting on the couch with a childhood friend he’d barely remembered until less than an hour ago, who had just made him tea for some issue he was certain he _didn’t have_.

“Cool. Thanks,” Richie said after another moment, a bit awkwardly. He cleared his throat as he set the mug down again, deciding to default back to his original question that he’d never really gotten a good answer to. “Anyway. I’m still dying to know uh. Why you’re here.”

“I told you. I was worried about you,” Eddie repeated.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

“You still know me so well.”

“Mmhm. Kinda figured that you might not be fine when the first time I saw one of your shows, you had a panic attack on stage. All the headlines about you falling off the radar didn’t help your case much,” Eddie said with a shrug.

Huh. Panic attack, that was a new one to Richie. He didn’t know what exactly that entailed, but if Mr. WebMD was telling him that was the case, then… Could he really argue with that? He did find it funny how Eddie seemed to have nothing to say about the drugs, Richie was certain a lecture was coming about the dangers. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie had a PowerPoint presentation ready for him the next morning. 

“So… you’re at a place in your life where it’s totally cool for you to drop everything and come check up on the failing comedian you knew years ago, just on a hunch that something might be up?” Richie asked.

Eddie shifted uncomfortably, and Richie wondered if he’d said too much. How the hell was he supposed to know, when he didn’t know a damn thing about Eddie’s life?

“Not... exactly. I left my fiancé right before I came here,” he said, picking at a loose thread coming from the couch.

“Damn. Sounds like you’re the one who needs the therapist, Eds,” Richie sighed before slipping into a poor attempt at a British accent. “I’m ‘ere to help ya, Mr. K. Let it out, talk about what’s been on ya mind.”

That earned him a punch on the shoulder from Eddie, well-deserved in his opinion.

“Fucking ouch, I didn’t know your little spaghetti arms had that much strength,” he said with a playful glare, rubbing the spot on his arm that Eddie had hit. 

Before he could help himself, Richie shifted his position on the couch. He was feeling… okay again. Not just okay, but _good_. Without the inflated ego, or bulletproof feeling that came along with the drugs. He felt like himself, before his mother had dragged him to the doctor all those years ago to fix him. “C’mere,” he mumbled, sitting back against the armrest of the couch. He didn’t need to specify exactly what he meant, Eddie knew. 

Soon enough, Eddie was seated between Richie’s legs, his back resting against Richie’s chest as he ranted about how his now-ex had treated him. Just like all those years ago, where they’d sat together in the same way in the clubhouse hammock, Richie felt… calm. If their friendship could be recovered, then why couldn’t Richie do the same for himself? Eddie was strong, he’d left his fiancé after years of what could only be described as abuse, and now he was on track to live his life the way he’d deserved.

Richie wanted that, too.

Even if it wouldn’t be easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is rarely linear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot more Eddie in this part

  
  
Richie wondered when exactly Eddie would want to talk about his discovery.

It didn’t even feel like Eddie had actually made an effort to  _ hide _ Richie’s drugs. They weren’t flushed down the toilet, or locked in Eddie’s suitcase like he’d expected. No, he’d found everything in one of the drawers while he was looking for a takeout menu. As if Eddie had decided that was the safest place, that was where they belonged.

Maybe it was some kind of trust test, Richie didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to wait for the day that Eddie would decide to flush everything down the toilet.

He’d taken the items into his bedroom, and stuck them on the highest shelf in his closet where he was  _ sure _ Eddie couldn’t reach.

In the time that Eddie had been in his apartment, Richie hadn’t really felt the need to use. He also hadn’t gone to any parties, had any shows, or any nights alone where he needed something to keep his mind occupied. Besides, it had only been a couple days. Richie had easily gone more than a week without feeling the need, he had it all under control.

_ He just didn’t understand why Eddie hadn’t brought it up yet. _

One afternoon when they’d both been in the living room, Richie on the couch as Eddie organized the apartment to his liking, he’d heard the drawer open. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t turn to look at Eddie. The drawer remained open for longer than it should have, Richie knew  _ exactly _ what Eddie had to be thinking as he stared into the now empty drawer. But then, the drawer shut and Eddie didn’t yell. He didn’t rush out of the apartment to get away from him, he didn’t even mention it. He just came back over to sit on the opposite side of the couch.

“Myra texted me again last night,” Eddie spoke up after a minute.

Okay. So they weren’t going to talk about it after all. “Yeah? About what?”

“She said I left some documents I’d need if I ever wanted to get a job out here. But of course she won’t fucking mail or fax them because ‘they’re sensitive documents, Eddie! Someone’s going to steal your identity if you don’t get them in person!’”, he said, his impression of Myra sounding a  _ lot _ like the one Richie used to do of the late Mrs. K.

It was odd, how they always seemed to default to talking about Eddie’s ex whenever Richie’s wellbeing was in question. Richie didn’t mind, any opportunity to talk shit about the former Mrs. K-wannabe was one he didn’t want to pass up. It seemed to help Eddie to talk about it as well, who was he to tell him no?

So Richie didn’t say anything. 

“Speaking of jobs,” Eddie started, and Richie looked back up at him. “ _ You _ need to call whoever it is that makes sure you  _ have _ a job. Get everything cleared up, man.”

As much as he wanted to argue that he’d get around to it, he knew he’d be lying. Without someone or something to push him, Richie had a tendency to avoid his problems. His manager was normally the one to push him, but with the way Richie had been dodging his calls for the last few days… Well, listening to Eddie was probably in his best interest. Richie nodded, and headed into his bedroom to charge his phone and face whatever wrath would come from his manager. 

***

It only took two days for Richie to break his promise to himself. 

As he waited for his phone to charge, his eyes wandered over to his closet. Up until… that day, he’d been a perfectly functional human being. He’d proven to himself that he could go days without using, wasn’t that enough? There was no harm in moderation, especially if it  _ helped _ . 

Richie pulled himself off of his bed and got down the cold, metal tray with his equipment on it, and brought it over to his nightstand. He sat back down on the edge of his bed, and got to work on following the ritual he knew so well. 

Why’d he been avoiding calling his manager again? What was he gonna do,  _ get rid of Richie?  _ Nah. 

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Richie started the conversation like any other. 

“Not great, Rich. Getting kinda tired of dealing with  _ your _ shit exclusively while you dodge my calls. Cleaning up your goddamn mess isn’t easy when I haven’t got a clue what the fuck happened.”

“Mm, yeah, sorry about that,” Richie said without any real remorse. “What’d you need to know?”

“The truth, Rich.”

“Oh come on, you and me both know nobody cares about that. Tell me what you want the story to be and I’ll roll with it.”

His manager sighed, silent for a moment. Richie knew he was right, who really cared what the reason was? As long as it could be spun in a way that would keep his career afloat, it didn’t matter what he said. “Alright. I’ll handle it. In the meantime, maybe try picking up the phone once or twice. I’ll be in touch.”

The phone call ended, and Richie tossed his phone aside again. Everything would be fine.

When the feeling of “everything will be fine” started to fade again, Richie’s ritual repeated. Over and over.

He didn’t leave his bedroom again that evening. 

***

When he woke up the next afternoon, there were already several missed calls, a number of emails, and even a few texts from Eddie.

Right. Eddie.

6:58pm: _ You want me to order you anything? _

7:06pm:  _ Answer me or you’re getting what I decide you want. _

7:12pm:  _ Alright, asshole. See what you end up with. _

7:53pm:  _ Hurry up unless you like cold lo mein. _

Richie groaned and rolled over without checking any other notifications. His head was killing him and his body ached, and now he had the guilt on top of physically feeling like garbage. There was no way Eddie didn’t know. So why didn’t he get angry like Richie deserved?

He didn’t even realize that he’d passed out again for another hour, hardly feeling any better than he had the first time he’d woken up. He did manage to look at his phone for another few minutes without his head feeling like it was splitting open, and found a script in his email from his manager.

The explanation of choice turned out to be a death in the family. It felt… strange to have his comeback show be a lie of that caliber, but Richie  _ had _ said he’d roll with whatever they gave him. They’d probably decided that was the least damaging thing to his image, how could his fans get upset with him for leaving a show after an incident like that? He sent his manager back his approval, and threw his phone aside again so he could drag himself out of bed and force himself to eat something.   
  
  


“Do you seriously eat _every_ _meal _on the fucking couch, Richie? You’re not a teenager anymore, buy a fucking real table,” were Eddie’s first words that evening, where he’d stepped out of the bathroom to find Richie on the couch with a container of cold, leftover takeout. 

“Mmhm,” Richie responded without shame. 

“Okay, no. Seeing as that’s  _ my  _ bed now, that’s going to stop. Unless you want me to start holding dinner parties in your room.”

“As long as I’m invited,” Richie said with a shrug, grinning at Eddie as he shoved another forkful of clumped up noodles into his mouth. 

Eddie didn’t say anything to that.

“Why doesn’t your girlfriend ever come around?” Eddie asked after a moment, brushing the nonexistent crumbs off the couch cushion before he sat down. 

Richie almost choked on the noodles. “My what?”

“Seriously, Rich? The girl you’re always talking about?”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“In your shows, dumbass,” Eddie sighed, obviously getting frustrated.

Oh. “Eds, that’s just a bit. I don’t write that shit.”

“I fucking knew it,” Eddie said. “Your jokes are dumb, but not as dumb as the shit you say on stage.”

“Rude, I’ll have you know that chicks these days fucking  _ love _ the ‘I pay good money to look homeless’ look. I’m living the bachelor life by  _ choice _ ,” Richie gestured to himself with his fork. A partial truth.

“Fuck you. I was just wondering,” Eddie mumbled, “Anyway.”

Richie tensed up, were they finally about to acknowledge the fucking elephant in the room?

“You figured out your work shit, right?”

Or not. “Yeah, I got a comeback show in a couple days. I gotta say, I’m really gonna miss the imaginary aunt they came up with to save my ass. Turns out she died right before my last show.”

He glanced up at Eddie, who looked just as uncomfortable with the idea as Richie had been when he first saw the script. Or maybe disappointed, it was hard to tell.

“Anyway. They’re gonna do an afterparty sort of thing, a little something extra to prove that I’m doing alright and booking me isn’t a massive fucking mistake. Wanna be my plus one?” Richie asked.

“Hilarious. No, I’m good,” Eddie said, the maybe-disappointment on his face changing to maybe-annoyance.

“Why not? I know you’ve been waiting for an opportunity to wear that dress you know I love,” Richie said with a wink, before shaking his head. “I’m serious though, why don’t you come with me? You haven’t gotten out of the apartment any more than I have the last few days, it’ll be good. You can come to the show and hang out afterward.”

Eddie seemed to consider it for a moment, “Is anyone else going with a friend?”

“I don’t know. Who cares?”

Eddie was silent, Richie could only imagine that his risk analyst mind was working overtime to see if it was worth it. “Fine. Yeah, I’ll go.”

“I knew you wouldn’t pass up a chance to see my show live. Only a real fan would have heard me crack enough jokes about my ‘girlfriend’ to think she’s actually real.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he didn’t change his mind. Richie had something to look forward to, finally. Even if it was probably going to be a shitty show with even shittier material, he’d get to spend the night with his best friend. 

Even though it was another night where the topic of his addiction was avoided, Richie quickly forgot about that. He went to bed at a (mostly) normal time, only after Eddie had tired himself out by ranting about how much bullshit job applications needed these days, and passed out on the couch as Richie let him. As Richie slipped away, he took the time to throw out the empty takeout container so Eddie wouldn’t have to wake up to a “mess”, and put a blanket over his friend before heading into his own bedroom.

The next morning, Richie woke up to find a printout of a kitchen table listing, with the delivery date circled in red pen.

***

Richie stayed clean in the days leading up to his comeback show.

It wasn’t difficult, really. The idea hardly ever crossed his mind, not when his stupid jokes were enough on their own to make Eddie fight back a laugh. 

“The stupid shit you say and do is way more entertaining than that scripted bullshit in your shows. I don’t understand why you’re not your own dumbass self up there, you’d actually be a comedian instead of an actor,” he’d said one night, a compliment that he’d not-so-cleverly tried to disguise as an insult.

For so many years, Richie had a voice in the back of his head telling him otherwise. Some kid from college, he couldn’t even remember his name. Just what he’d said to him one night after he’d taken up crushing lines of Adderall.

_ You’re a lot more fun like this, man. _

It was just a few words, something that the kid had probably never thought about again after saying it to Richie. It had stuck with him though, his parents and just about everyone else liked him better when he was medicated, self-done or otherwise. But here was Eddie, saying that the  _ real _ him was better. 

“Yeah, well. Maybe I’ll throw in a little improv into my next shows, as long as you’re willing to take the fall when I’m out of a job,” Richie said with a wide grin. Although he was genuinely considering it, maybe writing a few of his own jokes wouldn’t be so bad.

  
  


The night of the show came with a good kind of nervousness.

“Eddie, I swear to fucking god. It’s a  _ comedy show _ , not some… danger evaluator convention, or whatever the fuck you go to. You don’t need to dress up,” he yelled from the living room, after Eddie had gone into the bathroom for the third time to worry over if he was underdressed. “We’re gonna be late.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the bathroom door opened and Eddie looked out to check the time. “Fuck you,” he said and slammed the door shut again after seeing there was still plenty of time.

Richie smirked. Good to know, worries about being late trumps being underdressed in the mind of Mr. Kaspbrak.   
  
  


During the show, Richie was relaxed. Even without anything to help him calm his nerves, or boost his confidence, the audience’s reaction was enough to tell him he was nailing the delivery of the shitty script from his writers. Maybe part of it was sympathy for his imaginary deceased relative, but that didn’t matter to him. He was back.

With the bright lights of the stage shining on him, it was difficult to see exactly where Eddie was, and completely impossible to see what he thought. Still, Richie went off script a few times to throw in his own commentary, in hopes it might get more of a laugh out of his friend.

Once the show came to an end, Richie felt better than he had in a long time. He’d pulled it off, both Richie and his manager were satisfied with the performance. With the way things worked, everyone would forget about his previous incident in no time and move onto the next celebrity breakdown.

“Eds, what’d you think? Any better in person, or am I still just a big fraud to you?” Richie asks teasingly when he meets up with his friend after the show.

“Still a fraud. But I never said you’re not good at what you do,” Eddie responds, “There were some parts that were a hell of a lot better than others.”

“I knew you’d think so. C’mon,” he said and gestured for Eddie to follow him over to the bar. He could tell that Eddie wasn’t entirely in his comfort zone, surrounded by comedians, their managers, the various guests they’d brought along. It wasn’t exactly Richie’s scene either, but he’d promised he’d stay for a while to make a good impression. 

As he took a seat, he waved over the bartender before turning to Eddie. “Lemme guess, something fruity? A relaxing glass of red wine, perhaps?”

Eddie glared at him, “I’m fine with whatever you get.”

It was tempting to order the worst drink he could think of, just to watch Eddie either complain or force it down in an attempt to not give Richie any additional ammunition to tease him with. But he wasn’t that cruel, not when Eddie already seemed a bit stressed over their evening. Instead, he played it simple and ordered two beers.

Despite Richie’s best efforts to keep Eddie entertained and introduce him to some of the other comedians, many of them walking away slightly insulted when Eddie still had no idea who they were, he could tell that the other man wasn’t feeling quite as relaxed in the environment as he was. Richie gestured toward the bottle in front of Eddie that he’d been slowly drinking over the last hour, and mumbled a quiet “relax, we can leave soon”.

Soon was starting to seem far off in the future. Richie had ordered himself another beer, and keeping Eddie entertained had gone to the back of his mind. Socializing was good for his image after all, he knew Eddie would understand that. 

When Richie went to call the bartender over for a third, or maybe a fourth beer, he felt a hand on his arm to still him. He glanced over to Eddie, confused at first until he saw the look of concern across his friend’s face. Oh no. This was  _ not _ happening now, they weren’t going to spend days avoiding talking about Richie’s self-medication just to have it called out in  _ public _ over a substance that he  _ didn’t even have a problem with. _

Richie pulled his arm away, but Eddie’s hand was back on his wrist in a second. “Richie,” Eddie said in a calm but warning tone.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eds. Lay off,” Richie laughed to mask his annoyance.

“Rich, please. Let’s go.”

Richie jerked his arm back again. “Dude, no. Just because you can’t figure out how to have a good time doesn’t mean I gotta bail with you. Quit being a goddamn replica of your fucking mother for once,” he snapped, keeping his voice at a whisper to avoid making a scene.

Eddie pulled his hand away, staring at Richie before shaking his head. “I’ll see you back at your apartment,” he mumbled, and was out the door before Richie could say anything.

Shit.

Suddenly, spending the night drinking and laughing with his colleagues didn’t sound so appealing anymore. Or possible.

Richie slapped down a few bills to cover the drinks, and excused himself to go outside and get some air. His entire body was shaking as soon as he stepped outside, and the cool air felt like it was burning his lungs. It wasn’t long before in classic Tozier form, he found himself heaving into the bushes.

Going straight home wasn’t an option, and Richie wandered around the city for another couple hours in an attempt to sober up. Eddie would probably be asleep by the time he got home anyway, and then they’d be able to wake up the following morning and go back to the way things were. Avoid addressing the obvious problems. It was working so damn well for them, wasn’t it?

When Richie finally returned to his apartment, feeling more sober and exhausted than he had in a long while, he was surprised to see Eddie sitting in the hallway. He was seated by the door to the apartment, his jacket folded up underneath him so he wouldn’t have to sit on the disgusting hall floor because “who knows how often they clean out here, it’s a hallway”.

“Why’re you out here?” Richie asked.

“Door’s locked,” Eddie responded simply.

Right. “I would have given you the keys if you asked... or texted or called. I told you there’s a spare key in one of the kitchen drawers, I figured you’d taken it.”

Eddie shrugged, “It’s your place. Would have felt weird letting myself in.”

“Weird. I could have sworn you’d moved in when you showed up with your entire fucking wardrobe,” Richie said and unlocked the door, waiting for Eddie to walk in before he followed. He couldn’t push away the sinking feeling that Eddie was reminding him that he was just a guest, and after what Richie had said earlier in the evening, he likely had no intentions of staying longer than he needed to.

Just as he’d expected, Eddie didn’t say anything.

“If it counts for anything,” Richie started, “You know I was really fucking into Sonia.” A pathetic excuse for an apology. That wasn’t going to cut it.

There was a snort from Eddie, but Richie had a feeling it was more due to how fucking  _ stupid _ Richie could be.

“I really am sorry, Eds. I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t even mean it,” he tried to save his sad attempt at apologizing.

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have tried to do it like that,” Eddie said with a sigh, shrugging as he walked over to the couch. “I should have just talked to you.”

Richie followed. He didn’t want Eddie blaming himself for the way Richie had snapped, how was that fair? Eddie was just worrying about him, in the only way he knew how. Because for a guy that could never shut up, Richie was pretty damn shitty at talking about things that  _ matter. _ “It’s not too late. You can talk to me, at me, whatever you gotta do to get through this,” he said and gestured to his own head.

Eddie did smile at that, just the slightest amount but it was enough to make Richie’s heart melt. “I’m tired. First thing in the morning though, alright?”

“Deal,” Richie grinned and held out his hand to make their agreement official.

Instead of taking his hand, Eddie leaned over and pulled Richie into a hug, his face resting on Richie’s shoulder as they sat there in silence.

Only, Richie didn’t feel the need to break the silence like he normally would. He just put his arms around his friend in return, and held him there until he felt Eddie start to pull back.

“Goodnight, Rich. I’ll see you in the morning,” Eddie said, and stood up to change out of his clothes in the bathroom before Richie could confirm that it almost looked like he was tearing up.

“Night,” he responded, and headed to his own bedroom to fall asleep in the same clothes he’d gone out in.

***

As it turns out, Eddie wasn’t half bad at the whole “serious talk” thing.

When Richie woke up the next morning, he’d fully expected things to go back to the way they were. They wouldn’t talk about Richie’s habits, or any other uncomfortable things that happened as a result. But, he was wrong.

Stepping out into the kitchen, he was met by Eddie, a stack of papers, and a glass of water. On their new kitchen table. 

Richie could feel his anxiety rising up as he took a seat across from his friend. “So, is this like that intervention stuff? Did you write out a letter about how much you love me but you need me to change, because I’m sure it’ll be touching-“

“Nothing like that,” Eddie cut him off and shook his head. He seemed… calm. How?

“Right,” Richie said, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean it. I told you we were going to talk, and I wanted to be sure I knew what I was talking about. I’m not gonna just… jump into this shit like I have a single fucking clue what’s going on, because I don’t. But I’m going to do this for you,” Eddie said as calmly as he had been before. He straightened out the stack of papers, and cleared his throat. “Ready?”

“Ready, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie replied with a nervous grin. It wouldn’t be hard for him to make a run for it and leave, start over somewhere else. Anything that would get him out of the awkward, friendship-ruining conversation he was about to be a part of.

“I like you. The real you. And I want to spend more time with  _ that _ version of you,” Eddie started off. 

Richie just nodded. 

“More importantly. I want  _ you _ to like that version of you.”

“I-,” Richie started to say  _ I do _ , but was that true? He had, years ago when he and Eddie were kids. Before everyone started to  _ fix _ him, and preferred the new person they were creating. After that, everything he’d done was to maintain that person. To make it easier to be that person. “Okay.”

“The things you’re doing… they hide and hurt the person you really are.”

Richie was starting to feel sick again, and he sipped at the glass of water. He knew  _ exactly _ what would make the whole conversation easier, and his fingers twitched at the thought. Everything was so much easier when Richie didn’t have to be there, but that was the problem. He so badly wanted to talk to Eddie without feeling the need for something else to take over, he wanted to say so much to him and know it was coming from  _ him _ and not some artificial confidence. Hell, he wanted to be able to go to his shows and have the audience react to  _ his own  _ jokes and delivery. “Yeah,” was all he could say, lifting his glasses slightly to wipe at his eyes.

“What do you think you need?” Eddie asked.

Richie wasn’t sure how to answer. “I don’t know, Eds.”

“Do you need help with the… dependence part of it?”

Richie’s lack of self-control wasn’t exclusive to having no filter on his words. He nodded.

Eddie started to go through his stack of papers. Richie got a glimpse of one of the printouts, and his blood went cold. 

“No,” he said. “No rehabs. I can’t.”

Eddie looked like he’d been expecting that sort of response, so he tossed those papers into a trash he’d set beside the table.  _ Of fucking course he’d prepared to the point of bringing a trash over, how fucking cute- _

After a moment, Eddie found what he was looking for and slid it across the table to Richie. “I thought this would be better for you anyway. You can get the help you need, do your shows still, and come home and hang out with me. Unless you’re kicking me out after this.”

Richie quickly shook his head at Eddie’s comment, and looked down at the printout. Private, confidential, outpatient treatment for addiction. The word made him cringe, but he continued reading. A couple days a week, 6-12 weeks depending on his needs. That… didn’t sound so bad. He’d hardly have to make any changes to his schedule, and there was a good chance nobody would even find out and send him back into the spotlight with another scandal. It was worth a shot at the very least.

When he looked back up at Eddie, his friend looked nervous. Like he was afraid Richie would scream at him for even implying he needed help, and kick him out onto the streets.

“Okay. Yeah, I can handle this,” Richie said, his own words surprising himself. But when Eddie’s face seemed to light up after hearing them, he would have said them a dozen more times.

“Perfect. I’ll get it all set up, we can give you a fake name or something so there’s no chance of it leaking out to-“

“I have some conditions though,” Richie interrupted. “First off, I was promised that I could come home and hang out with you after. And I won’t settle for anything less. So you better fucking take the spare key, and just make it official that you’re staying here.”

“Of course,” Eddie agreed easily.

“Second, even after this is all… behind us, I still want you to stay,” Richie took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s obviously up to you. My condition is just that… you know I want you to stay.” Smooth.

Maybe it was the years of learning how to translate Richie’s words into something that made sense to the average person, but Eddie understood well enough. “Let’s have that conversation once we have this all sorted out first, alright?”

Richie felt a tinge of disappointment.

“But,” Eddie continued with a smile, “You should know that I want to  _ stay, _ too.”

Those words were enough to pull every ounce of disappointment out of his body. “Cool. I hope you know that when we have this ‘conversation’, I’m gonna one-up your little presentation here,” he said and gestured toward the papers. “I’m talking PowerPoints, visual aids, all that shit,” he counted off on his fingers. “So get ready for that.”

“Fuck you, asshole. I’ll have you know I stayed up almost the entire night getting this shit ready,” Eddie pointed at the papers and glared across the table. “Besides, we both know that you could spend  _ weeks _ doing the same thing and not even come close,” he said and crossed his arms.

Richie wanted to apologize, for being the reason Eddie had to stay up all night after the rough evening he’d had to begin with, no thanks to Richie. But if getting better would stop Eddie from any other sleepless nights stressing over him, then… how could Richie refuse? “We’ll see about that,” he said with a smirk.

“Go eat some nasty cold pizza or something, whatever you do when you wake up after drinking,” Eddie said as he stood up, throwing the remaining pages into his personal trash can before he took back the one that Richie had agreed to. “I’m going to get all this shit set up, and then you’re going to leave me alone while I catch up on the sleep you owe me.”

Richie bit back a comment about how he’d be owing him a hell of a lot more sleep in the future if Eddie stuck around, and went over to his refrigerator to do exactly what his friend had suggested. As soon as the refrigerator door closed, he could hear the sound of metal knocking around and Eddie flushing the toilet. The sound made him tense up, and his hands were shaking as the urge to stop him rushed to the front of his mind. But he stayed put and took a deep breath. It’d all be worth it.

***

After his first outpatient day, Richie returned home to find Eddie sitting on the couch and waiting for him just as he’d expected. Instead of settling down to talk about how it had gone, he threw his coat at the other man.

“What the fuck, dickwad?” Eddie yelled, tossing Richie’s coat back in his direction and missing him entirely. 

“Did you seriously sign me up with  _ Dick Turner _ as my goddamn name?”

Even Eddie couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Hey man, I wanted you to have something easy to remember! I mean, Turner is similar to-“

Richie threw a pillow at Eddie, but his friend kept talking.

“-and Dick is short for Richard.”

Richie was close to full-out smothering Eddie, but he couldn’t imagine that’d be good for his recovery. “I swear to fucking god. You better hope I never decide to write you into my shows because it’s gonna be no fucking mercy.”

“That’d mean you’d actually have to come up with your own material.”

Richie didn’t hesitate to throw the last pillow at Eddie.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I could keep this going for a long time, i still have ideas aghdfhaf
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I’m working on the next chapter of my other fic too but this was on my mind and it had to happen  
I may be talked into doing a sequel for this with Eddie helping him through the recovery process if anyone would be interested agdjfgh I worry that it might have been a bit rushed but I didn’t want it to get too long since it was supposed to just be a one-shot!  
But yeah, feedback is very welcome!


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